By Giordano Durante

I first fell for the refreshingly multi-faceted music of David Bowie when studying in London in my late teens and early twenties.

Although it wasn’t my first encounter with either his music or whichever transient persona he was trying out for size (that came in 1986 courtesy of his appearance in Labyrinth and that iconic genital bulge) it was the first time I lived the music, the first time it became part of me and defined a certain stage in my life.

Maybe London was the right place to get to know Bowie. His work captured some of the rawness of that city and its underlying whiff of decadence. This was music to play while you smoked and drank and talked until that grey excuse for dawn arrived.

In a flat in Camden, my brother-in-law played his treasured Hunky Dory vinyl on huge speakers and we debated the greatness of “Life on Mars?” - that epic number that ends with the piano playing a tune that manages to carry into silence the emotional and musical weight of all that comes before.

Our musical experience is strongly shaped by where we live and what we’re doing at the time. But something tells me that London was a particularly apt backdrop for Bowie’s songs. Born and raised in South London, the man must have had the city coursing through his veins – in some way which I feel is beyond me to explain, the chugging guitars and the bizarre and often unfathomable lyrics just seem to suit and now even conspire to magically recreate the puddle-filled alleyways of Soho on a November evening.

I encountered Bowie the man via the excellent Live at the Beeb compilation album. Introducing the tracks he sounds intelligent, articulate; he comes across as shy but with a playful sense of humour.

Nearly everything he did is memorable and worth revisiting; from the multi-genre genius of Hunky Dory to the electronic innovation of Low and the bleak, incantatory title track “Blackstar” from his last album which was only released two days ago.

Bowie was a rare species of rock star. He successfully and ingeniously re-invented himself several times, each time breaking new ground. Despite his long career, he never sold out and, as his later albums show, he never got stale. Unlike many aging rockers who tour with the same tired old hits to boost their pension pot, Bowie never became a parody of himself.

Bowie was popular without being a populist; his work was experimental but always remained listenable. At a time when the top three chart spots are filled by the abominable Justin Bieber, it’s worth remembering that there was a time when it was possible to combine artistic integrity and originality with commercial success.

A fan salutes you - so long Ziggy!  

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